


After

by Morethancupcake



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Deaf Clint Barton, Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Oblivious Phil Coulson, Pining Clint Barton, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel), Tony Stark is a good friend, mention of Clint/others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything falls into places after the battle, except Clint, it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

He doesn't bring anyone in his room ar the tower. 

He goes to bars, and then to shitty hotel rooms. Sometimes he just follows them in the bathroom. 

They don't really have a face, they don't have a name. They don't exist, really, it's just another need, another thing he has to do to stay sane. Kind of.

He doesn't bring them to the tower. 

 

Sometimes, he sits outside, and he tries to remember the last thing he said to Coulson. Sometimes.

 

Coulson is down. 

Nat had been very gentle, when she told him. He should've known something was off. She was sitting too close, she was touching his arm, she was looking into his eyes, keeping him anchored.

He should've known it was going to hurt. 

Coulson is down, Clint. They need us.

 

Coulson's appartment is still there, still annoyingly empty, still smelling faintly like his office, like his shirts, like the clothes he was taking from there, one sweater at the time. He wasn't a grown-up sleeping in his former (lover ? friend ?) boss's clothes, except he was. 

Phil always smelled like that stupid mint soap he liked to buy, and Clint had now a whole supply in his bathroom.

 

He doesn't talk to anyone. He doesn't want to. They know something is not exactly right with him, something not related to Loki, not related to the hole in the sky, but no one comes to him. 

Except Stark. And that's probably why he slowly becomes his favorite. Stark doesn't ask, no. Stark doesn't really say a word, he just comes to sit in the dark, and hands him a glass of the good stuff. They don't really talk, it's more sitting in silence, with a few sentences in between. 

One night, after way too many glasses, he says "I used to love him." Stark doesn't move, he doesn't even blink. His eyes are still on the lights outside, so Clint finds in himself to say : "I betrayed him. For Tasha. I decided to trust her, and he had to deal with the consequences, and the fact I betrayed his trust. I do that. I betray him."

"He was a strong man."

"He didn't deserve to think he couldn't trust me. He didn't deserve to think we weren't friends."

His tongue his heavy, and his head hurts. He wishes he could take his aids off and go to sleep. Stark finishes his glass and stands up. 

"No, he didn't deserve any of this."

 

Stark comes to him almost every night. It's a tacit understanding, no one needs to know. He doesn't need the burn of the alcohol anymore. In the dark, he talks. 

 

Tasha knows. Of course she knows. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't offer her help, or any platitudes and speech about how he is going to be okay. She tells him once, just once, when he's grabbing coffee and she's leaving the kitchen. "I'm sorry you had to sacrifice his trust for me. I am sorry."

He doesn't stop her, and tell her she shouldn't. Sentimentality isn't something they can afford. 

 

One night, after Stark's retreat to his workshop, he goes to the appartment. He grabs food, real food, the kind of things Phil would buy before, when it was all right for them to share a meal sitting on his couch. He buys everything, and he tries to remember how it was, before. He tries to remember Phil smiling at him. He tries to remember the few times he stayed the night, feeling safe enough to turn off his aids and sleep. He remembers the smell of the soap, and coffee, and the smooth pillow under his cheek. He remembers.

When he opens the door, he remembers the years after. After Tasha's training, after the hours spent working, and proving himself to be a good agent, one who could be trusted. He remembers the handlers, and passing the office he used to go to for a little chat or just a nap. He remembers wanting to open the door, wanting to explain, to beg for them to make it past this.

Betrayal wasn't something they could afford either. 

 

He cleans the place, and thinks about all he could've done. 

He chops the vegetables and thinks about how things could've been different if he had done something, said something. Not letting days being weeks, then months, then years of work and polite smiles, and jokes when they were finally all heading home safely.

He changes the sheets, and thinks about how pathetic he had been, really, being in love for years, and not being able to at least tell Coulson, Phil, that he had been the best thing in his life, even when he was just nodding his way in the morning, or offering him the last donut. 

 

After a week, he tells the team he probably won't be back to the tower. Steve doesn't ask, but he offers to talk to Fury, if needed.

He almost understand the crush. Almost.

Jealousy isn't something they could afford, but this one had always been hard.

 

Stark comes to him one night, but something is different. It's the same feeling that saved his life so many times before, he doesn't know how to call it.

"I think I found something. Something you need to see."

 

He doesn't remember the hours after reading the files. He does remember the team, how angry and relieved they were. He remembers his own heart, the beating keeping him alive. He remembers Stark's hand on his shoulder, and then his words. Then nothing.

He's back at the appartment, taking a shower when he finally understand what it means.

For the first time since the cold in his heart, since Tasha's words in the helicarier, since that day, he cries.

 

And then it starts again. He goes to the tower. Shooting, sparring, laughing with everyone. Talking to Stark in the dark. 

He tries to go to strangers again, but it doesn't work anymore, he doesn't want that anymore. He goes back home (home), and sleeps in Phil's bed. Maybe he touches himself in the dark, and maybe he's picturing someone he loves. Maybe.

Phil alway told them hope was something they could afford, after all.

 

He's halfway through what is supposed to be part of his psych eval when the door opens. The footsteps go to the room (their room) then come back, lighter. He's wearing Clint's sweatpants, and shirt. Coulson (Phil) takes a mug and starts making tea, and that's the thing that makes his frown.

"Coffee isn't that good for me anymore." The voice is still the same, maybe a little rough. It could be the plane, it could be the lack of sleep. It could be a lot of things, really. "You talked with Fury, I believe ?"

"You didn't ?"

"We aren't exactly on good terms at the moment, no."

 

Outside, two kids are playing with a ball. A car is circling the parking lot. 

 

"Barton. Talk to me."

 

So he does.

The kids go home, and he talks.

 

When he stops, Coulson is sitting next to him, and they're holding hands. Part of him starts to wonder if these black-outs are a problem he should be worried about, but it gets pushed to later, because a hand brushes his hair away from his sweaty skin, and it feels nice.

"I always trusted you. Always. You going against my orders and helping Romanov was probably the best idea you had, Barton." He blinks a few times, because he doesn't understand. The words don't make sense.

"But you... We stopped..."

"You had her in your life, I had to step out."

"You..." Nothing make sense. Nothing. "You.. Me and Tash ? Really ?"

"I don't keep tabs on my assets private life, Barton." And that, he remembers, the way Phil (Phil) would get snappy when wrong. It was so rare it was easy to miss, but Clint rarely missed.

"You're stupid, sir."

"It looks like we're leaving together, now, so I think you can start calling me Phil."

 

He falls asleep a hand holding Phil's biceps, keeping him close. 

In the morning, his lips taste like tea. 

That's something he needs to get used to.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr :  
>  http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/119788751919/after
> 
> as usual, nice comments and kudos make me really happy.


End file.
